


terminal

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Series: OFF poetry [12]
Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: F/M, Microfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 23:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2288369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he remembers, at first, how inextinguishable it felt to be alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	terminal

**Author's Note:**

> part 2 of old shit i found in my folders  
> i think i tried to make this into a poem here  
> http://saltvwater.tumblr.com/post/90144730736/i-remember-the-silver-light-of-her-fragrance-she  
> and gave up on the whole thing

he remembers, at first, how in love he was. she was light – she was everything glorious that existed, and she was the queen of everything beautiful, which meant everyone. she was the dawn, and she was the afternoon, and he was so proud to be able to sit at her side. she was the sun in every room she walked into, she was blazing red.

he remembers, at first, he was frail. he was the essence of what he would become, a wisp of a being, a matchstick next to a roaring bonfire. he was so small compared to her might, and content with his position, because no matter how ugly his mouth full of teeth was and how cumbersome his large paws were with handling the delicate newborn world, he was accepted into the heart of existence, and he loved her.

he remembers, at first, how inextinguishable it felt to be alive.

he remembers, then, how it crumbled, how she became too powerful, or maybe her power was unfit to handle, and started to sunburn the newborn world, and so she stopped blessing him with her presence and drifted away, higher, blocking the real sun with her blazing red.

but he doesn't remember any of this when he lets strings mold into his skin and forms himself into something more tactile, something that wouldn't trip over his own feet when he was looking around the room for her, as the coughing intensified and the subtle feeling of dread made him clench the bat in his hands.

and these hands are new, fresh, and won't let go.


End file.
